Coping with PMS

For as long as I can remember I have suffered from pre menstrual syndrome (PMS), which seems to have exacerbated with age. PMS refers to physical and emotional symptoms that occur in the one to two weeks leading up to a woman's monthly period. Symptoms often vary among women and usually resolves at the start of bleeding. No one knows what the exact causes of PMS are, but it is believed that changes in hormonal levels and genetics are play a role.

From as young as age 13 I dreaded that time of the month when I would be overwhelmed by the nausea and vomiting, bloating, mood swings, depression, cramps, heavy bleeding and sometimes headaches. "All that will change after you have a child," I was told by countless mature women. As it turned out, as it relates to me, that was just an old wives' tale, as decades later I am sometimes figuratively crippled on the first two days of my period as a result of the aforementioned symptoms, with additions of extreme fatigue, anxiety, tender breasts and aches and pains in places I didn't even know could hurt. And all of this while having to take care of a child who was supposed to be my saving grace.

Women and PMS have been the brunt of many jokes and now memes, many of which I have laughed at, not because they were funny, but because they were so relatable. The debilitating effects of PMS are real, but to those who are not directly affected by it, men and women, it is viewed as something trivial or made up. I recall years ago in one of my communication studies classes the discussion was about types of "noise" — physical, physiological, psychological, and semantic — and how they can disrupt communication. We were asked to give examples of noise that fell into the different categories, and with my outstanding qualifications in PMS, I eloquently proffered that its symptoms can be added to the list of psychological noise or mental interference in a speaker or listener, right up there with wandering thoughts, preconceived ideas, and sarcasm, as said symptoms extend beyond the physical. Without giving it any thought, in what I recall was an unnaturally cold room, one of my classmates flippantly dismissed it because she, "don't get that (PMS)," adding that some women use it as an excuse for incompetence. Fortunately for me and unfortunately for her, my period was a mere three days away but its heralds of irritability and an extremely bad mood were on hand to proclaim its imminent arrival. By the time the class was dismissed she had a fairly good idea of and was in agreement with just how the psychological noise that is PMS affects communication as evidenced by my tone, volume and choice of words.

After many years of suffering, I had decided to go on a quest to find a "cure" for my condition — one that is common among so many women — but eventually gave up the search. You see, the side effects of the meds that are reputed to help proved to be worse than the actual condition. For the depression, I took anti-depressants, which brought with it insomnia, dry mouth, blurred vision and constipation.

With the anxiety pills came nervousness, restlessness and dizziness. The prescribed birth control pills caused me to bleed for 16 consecutive days, followed by inter-menstrual spotting and severe headaches. And the looming threat of the possibility of developing blood clots and having a stroke, as listed in birth control disclaimers when being advertised, did not sit too well with me either. The naturopathic avenue didn't extend very far either. With the St John's Wort came sensitivity to sunlight and a worsened feeling of anxiety. Calming teas, herbs and soothing oils, which may have worked for other people, was just a waste of my money and pushed me further along the abject poverty road.

What I have come to realise, and this pertains to me, is that my condition, like a mild diarrhoea or a cold, must be left to run its course. When that time comes around I do what I need to do to preserve my sanity and that of those around me. My son, even at ten, knows when mommy is expecting her period because I've taught him the signs. When he sees them he knows it's time to give me some space — lots of space, preferably in the comfort of my work-in-progress, air-conditioned mom cave. No rough play with me, keep the noise to a minimum and do things for himself as much as possible. I know it may seem unfair to him, but the way I see it, it's better for his mental health if he makes himself a plain sandwich as opposed to having me come out of my cave to make him an elaborate burger with fries, garnished with a zillion bouffs. Plus, he gets the added benefit of the building a spirit of independence.

I work from home on most days, which is a blessing. But on the days I have to go to the office it takes a lot out of me to keep from snapping at the customer service representative who decides to carry on her personal conversations with co-workers at the exact time I get the to cash register; cussing the two women who think it's a great idea to take a leisurely stroll, side by side, taking up the entire Pembroke Street sidewalk and leaving no room for me to get past them; and lunging at the young man who, admirably so, sells his music along Frederick Street and gets all up in my face trying to get me to purchase one of his CDs. Some of my co-workers know exactly what I mean when I declare upon entrance to the office, "I am not supposed to be out in public today; approach me at your own risk."

For the most part, though, I'm training my mind to learn to cope and I seem to be getting better at it. Lifestyle changes have helped, to a point. Consumption of less sugar, caffeine and processed foods seems to have eased the anxiety, and walking on evenings has taken a bit of the sting from the fatigue, aches and pains. I accept I will never have a PMS-free life as long as I have a period, and I have chosen to look at the bigger picture. I'm laying the groundwork for the next phase — menopause — which, I've been told, will literally have me in a hot mess.